


Ties that Bind Us

by TheTwistedWillow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Domestic Boyfriends, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, False Memories, Friends to Lovers, Gay Sex, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Memory Alteration, POV Castiel, Sandover, Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc., Temporarily Human Castiel, Temporarily OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-04 18:37:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16351991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTwistedWillow/pseuds/TheTwistedWillow
Summary: Dean Smith and Cas Novak both work for Sandover and begin an interoffice relationship that quickly and easily evolves into love. But the longer that he and Dean are together, the harder it is for Cas to shake the unfounded feeling that everything is going to come undone.Inspired by ep 4x17 (the Dean Smith & Sam Wesson episode) but canon-divergent from unspecified point in s13 before Dean says yes to Michael.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In order to get a full story completed I am trying to write this story like an episode. Each break is a new "scene" and some have big time jumps. I let you know how much time has passed each jump. This is not beta-ed so I apologize for any typos or mistakes. 
> 
> *Suicide references are not Dean, Cas, or Sam. There’s no MCD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Promptober word: It's a Terrible Life (ep 4X17)  
> Rating: Explicit  
> Warnings: Dubcon

 

Dean had gotten the shower first this morning so when Cas emerges from the bathroom a little while after him, he fully expects Dean to already be dressed.

Instead he finds Dean sitting in Cas’ favorite spot, on the bench beneath the bedroom window. He's gazing thoughtfully outside, his towel still wrapped around his hips.     
  
Dean purses his lips and gently blows at the steam that’s rising from the mug in his hand, completely oblivious to the fact that he's no longer alone until he glances over and catches on that Cas is watching him.  
  
"Mornin', Sunshine,” Dean greets brightly.  
  
Cas rolls his eyes at the nickname, his smile untamable and belying any of the annoyance that he tries to exude because the truth is that he actually does (secretly) love the affectionate moniker.  
  
"Morning," he replies, fitting himself between Dean's thighs and upsetting the towel. It's pretty much useless at this point, the way it splits open to accommodate Cas’ body. "You should be dressed. We're gonna be late." He leans down for what he means to be a quick kiss.

“Worth it," Dean murmurs against his lips, legs locking around Cas so that he can’t move away. Not that he’s complaining when Dean reaches up his free hand to the nape of Cas’ neck and deepens the kiss, steam from the coffee mug heating up their bare chests. 

“Mm,” Cas forced himself to lean back, “come on. No time.”

“Fine,” Dean pouts. He unhooks his ankles, freeing Cas.

Cas can feel Dean’s eyes on him as he gathers up his clothes, which are strewn about around Dean’s bedroom. He’s stepping into his pants when Dean chuckles from his perch in front of the window.

“You’re gonna do the Walk of Shame? Really? Come on, Cas. Just wear something of mine.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Cas laughs, feeding an arm through the shirt he wore yesterday.

Dean finally gets up, his towel slipping off. The cup clinks softly against his abandoned seat.

“I would.”

Cas chuckles lightly. He’s become far too accustomed to Dean’s comfort with nudity to be bashful about it anymore and continues fixing his shirt. First the collar, then the cuffs.

“Be serious, Dean. It’s one thing for people to know that I stayed somewhere but it’d be another thing if they all knew that I was with _The_ Dean Smith.”

“Hey, I’m not so bad,” Dean says as he begins opening his drawers and getting dressed.

“Wearing your clothes would be a dead giveaway that we’re together. Well,” Cas corrects, looking down as he begins buttoning up his white shirt, the one with thin blue stripes, “not together-together.”

“What if we were?”

“What if we were what?”

“Together-together,” Dean says, quickly rushing on before Cas can laugh or interject. “Let me take you out to dinner tonight.”

“For a man who wanted a no strings attached arrangement,” Cas glances up, “that sounds an awful lot like a string.”

“I like all kinds of strings," Dean shrugs. "And sometimes I like to see where one leads.”

Cas can’t tell if Dean is messing around or not. Then again, it wouldn’t be like him. He’s Mister Plan-It. He’s meticulous and careful. Hooking up with Cas may be the wildest thing Dean Smith has ever done.

If Dean is _actually_ considering this then he must have been thinking about it for awhile.

“Look, I know when we started messing around I had said something to that effect. But that was before I knew how good we are together. I want to take the next step.”

“You’re serious.” Cas’ buttons are forgotten as he stares at the man before him, his heart tripping with elation. He's wanted more but he thought it was one-sided.

Dean meets his eyes straight on. “Dead.”

“Well, what am I supposed to tell my other extremely handsome and sexy boyfriend then?” Cas jokes. He regrets it instantly when Dean appears distressed.

“I uh—oh. I didn’t know. I mean, I know we weren’t exclusive or anything but we’re always together and so I just assumed..,” Dean runs a hand through his hair and looks away.

“Dean, there’s no other boyfriend. And there hasn’t been since we started messing around. Why would there be? I like us,” Cas says lightly, picking up his discarded shoes and taking them over to the bed so he can sit down and put them on.

“Oh. So you were..?”

“Kidding.”

Dean lets out a deep breath. “Well, how do you know I don’t have some chick—“

Cas stands up and cups himself over his pants, raising a brow. “I think you’ve liked this much more than you realize.”

“Touché. And, um, speaking of which,” Dean smiles slyly, gesturing between their crotches.

“Finished. Getting. Dressed,” Cas chastises, walking over to give Dean a quick peck on the lips before he leaves. He pauses in the doorway just so he can see Dean's grin when he says, “And, Dean? Pick me up at seven.”

“Hey, wait,” Dean calls when Cas is nearly to the front door.

Cas pauses and yells back, “Yeah?”

“You’re in charge of condoms. I’ve only got one left.”

“You’re optimistic,” Cas calls loudly.

“How’s that?”

“Because you think you’ll be in need of more than one tonight.”

“Asshole,” Dean yells but Cas can hear him laughing.

“Yeah, love ya, too,” Cas whispers, going out the door and locking the handle behind him since he doesn’t have a key.

+++

“I want you to have a key,” Dean says at dinner, pulling something out of his pocket and holding it out to Cas over the table just to prove his sincerity.

It’s been three months since they had started dating and thus stopped keeping their relationship a secret. Three months of Cas' life bleeding into Dean's in new, intimate ways. His things have slowly found a place at Dean's hearth, in his cupboards, on his bed.  
  
Three months of sharing chores, making meals together, going on walks down to the pier hand-in-hand, or going to get one of the health shakes Dean likes so much.  
  
Three months of driving to work together and wearing each other's clothes. Of coming home together and crashing on the couch with their respective work.  
  
Three months of hot sex, slow sex, and very uniquely positioned sex (which doesn't always work out but makes for a good laugh). Of giving it and taking it, anywhere and everywhere they can get it.  
  
Three months of becoming accustomed to the general public's gossip and dealing with ignorance.  

Their boss, Mr. Adler, ate up this relationship status update, though. He was surprisingly excited and supportive. Something about the company being _proud_ to be progressive and modern, “ _No pun intended._ ”

“This is unexpected,” Cas replies, holding out his hand for the key. Ever sentimental, Dean has attached it to a round pewter keychain that has words impressed into the metal in French.

_Plus qu'hier et moins que demain._

“How is it unexpected?” Dean chuckles but it comes out strained and with anxiousness. Cas realizes that Dean is nervous that he might say no. “You’re always at my place. You’ve started leaving clothes in actual drawers, you have a toothbrush and a razor and a pillow. Do you even have an apartment anymore?”

“I just meant--I guess I’m still surprised that you’re hanging on to me and that you want more. I wasn’t expecting this, hence it being unexpected.”

“Baby,” Dean leans over the dining table, doing his best country-boy accent that sometimes comes out of nowhere. “I ain’t lettin’ go.”  
  
Cas bites his lip and looks down at the brand new, shiny key. The cold pewter disc warms up quickly against his skin but nothing warms him more thoroughly than already knowing the translation of the words that Dean chose and the romantic connotation: _'M_ _ore than yesterday and less than tomorrow_ ’.    
  
"I mean," Dean continues, "I just thought it'd be nice to have, just in case. You don't have to move in, per se."  
  
"There's no place I'd rather be, Dean."

+++

A couple of months later, Cas is searching all over the apartment for a really important portfolio that is part of his presentation scheduled in twenty minutes. “Dean, I’m going to be late. Where is that file that I was working on last night?”

“How would I know where _your_ file is at?” Dean calls from the bedroom. “A file that _you_ were working on, no less.”

“Because I had it on the dining table which you have since cleared off,” Cas argues. If Dean would just leave things alone, Cas will get to them himself. Eventually.

Dean comes out to the living room in socks, slacks and an unbuttoned shirt. His toothbrush hangs out of the side of his mouth, green foam tracing his lips. He pulls the brush out of his mouth with a loud slurping sound that only further grates on Cas' shot nerves.

“Did you look in your briefcase?”

Cas stops looking under entertainment hutch--because of course it wouldn't be there but he's looked everywhere else so far, to no avail--and gets up to grab his briefcase. The file is right on top of his other documents.

“Why didn’t you just tell me you put it in here to begin with?” Cas snaps and Dean does some infuriating, nonchalant shrug and shuffles back toward the master bathroom.

On his way out the door Cas might slam it a little too hard. He doesn’t bother locking it because he knows Dean will be leaving only minutes after him.

Cas barely makes it to his morning meeting and then spends the rest of the afternoon hermit-ed away in his office. It’s nearly time to go home when he realizes that he hasn't gotten a text or call from Dean the entire day. Not even an attempt to come to Cas’ office.

Cas begins to worry about the stability of their relationship and of Dean’s commitment to it. He already knows at this point, beyond a shadow of doubt, that he himself would go to hell and back for Dean. He may not be the best at expressing it, but he loves Dean with every fiber of his being.   
  
Dean had originally gotten together for some fun and not to deal with someone else's messes and mood swings. How delicate is their bond if Cas could ruin it all over something that is otherwise so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things? 

Convinced that he’ll go home and find all of his stuff packed up and in the hallway, Cas takes a detour in order to try and delay the inevitable. He ends up at the grocery store for lack of anywhere else to go and slowly peruses the aisles until he comes around to the bakery.

Dean is a bit of a Beachbody fanatic, taken to eating salads for lunch and usually something like sushi for dinner. But he has one weakness.

Cas almost doesn’t buy the pie but then he figures he might as well offer an apology regardless of what Dean decides to do.

Reluctantly he goes to the apartment and drags his feet up the stairs to Dean’s door. The hallway is empty and quiet. Cas puts his key in the lock and doesn’t even have a chance to turn it before the door is ripped open.

“Cas? Thank God,” Dean smothers him in an embrace, nearly smashing the cherry pie between their bodies and then he's pulling away just as quickly as he'd pounced, his face stormy. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling and texting you.”  
  
“You--you have? When?”  
  
“All damn day.”  
  
“I didn’t get any calls or messages,” Cas says defensively.  
  
“Did you forget to charge your phone _again_ ?”  
  
Cas holds out the pie to Dean and sets down his briefcase before pulling his phone out of his pocket. The screen remains black when Cas presses buttons and tries to turn it on.

“Dean--”  
  
“Save it. Just… get your ass in here. And don’t think pie is gonna let you off the hook so easy. I’ve been worried out of my goddamn mind.”  
  
“Why didn’t you come see me in my office if you were so worried then?” Cas asks, walking through the door and setting his briefcase next to the umbrella stand. He looks around surreptitiously. Nothing seems amiss. There are no boxes or suitcases anywhere.  
  
“I had to go to corporate today, remember? It took the entire day. And I figured you were in a mood and not answering but that we'd meet at home. But you weren't here and now you’re almost two hours later than usual... I thought you were in an accident. I was about to start calling hospitals.”  
  
“Dean, I’m sorry,” Cas says earnestly. “About this morning, about everything. To be honest, I thought I had pissed you off enough that you were going to tell me to get out so I took my time coming here.”  
  
“ _What?_ ” Dean asks incredulously. He reaches up to run his free hand through his hair but it’s still stiff from his hair gel and he ends up sort of awkwardly patting it. “You think having a frustrating morning is enough to break _us_? Shit happens but what we've got is stronger than that.”  
  
Cas’ eyes go wide. Dean never curses because he thinks it’s a sign of immaturity and here here's done it a couple of times in the span of a few minutes. But Dean doesn’t seem to realize he’s said it, or he plain doesn’t care because he’s so worked up.  
  
“It’s gonna take a whole helluva lot more than throwing a tantrum about a file to scare me off.”  
  
“Tantrum?” Cas asks, his brow hiking up.  
  
“Yeah, tantrum." Dean smirks. Now that the scare is over he's got a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. "In fact, I think I might need to bend you over my knee and spank you.”  
  
“And I think I’ve been a bad influence on you,” Cas deadpans.   
  
“I have a great idea. Here, take the pie. Get naked, get in bed, and wait for me." Dean leans in close and whispers, "I want to paint every inch of you with the filling and lick it off until you're crying my name and begging me to take you.”  
  
Cas shudders and takes the pie back from Dean, a thrill of anticipation coursing through him.  
  
A really bad influence.  
  
  
+++

The room is pitch black when Cas is woken up from a strange dream. It takes a few seconds to get his bearings and figure out why the bed keeps shaking.

“Dean? Dean,” Cas groggily shakes the other man when he realizes it's Dean jerking around in his sleep.  
  
Dean gasps awake and bolts upright, his hand flying out and smacking Cas square on the nose. Almost instantly warmth fills one of Cas’ nostrils and he quickly untangles himself from the sheets and rushes to the bathroom just as the first drop of blood drips out and plops into the bone-white sink.  
  
It continues to drip as he tries to reach for Kleenex while simultaneously keeping his face over the sink.  
  
“Cas?” The half-closed bathroom door creaks open, Dean’s form filling up the doorway. He’s instantly pressed up close to Cas, touching his shoulder. “Did I--I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s not your fault,” Cas says, pinching the bridge of his nose to help and try to stave off the flow of blood. “You were having a nightmare and I should’ve remembered how much you flail around.”  
  
“I hate that you have to put up with it at all. And now you’re hurt.”  
  
“Dean Michael Smith,” Cas chastises. “It’s going to take a helluva lot more than some bad dreams to scare me off,” he mocks, tweaking the line from what Dean had said to him only a month ago when Cas lost his temper. It was over something so stupid that he can’t even remember what that had all been about except that that was the night of the pie foreplay.  
  
He's never going to look at pie the same again.

“I hope you mean that,” Dean says, his eyes wide, bloodshot orbs.  
  
“Of course I mean it. And, look, bleeding’s already stopped. Barely felt the hit,” Cas says, tossing his used Kleenex away and pushing Dean out of the bathroom door and back toward bed.

Dean is a cuddler but he’s even more clingy after one of his nightmares so Cas quickly gets situated as close as he can, sliding an arm under Dean’s neck and curling around his backside.  
  
“What was it this time?" Cas whispers. "Was I a badass this time or a punching bag?”  
  
“Wings,” Dean mumbles. “You had wings.”  
  
Cas brushes his lips over the back of Dean’s shoulder and holds him tighter. Something about that resonates deeply with Cas but he’s not sure how. He feels like how one might feel when staring at a fuzzy old photograph that’s familiar but also forgotten.  
  
He falls asleep with fitful dreams of his own.

+++  
  
  
“How long have you two been together?”  
  
They’re at the annual Sandover Christmas Ball, both of them wearing black tuxedos and matching boutonnieres of white carnations. Many of their clients are in attendance so it’s important--especially for Dean as the director of marketing and sales--that they are present.  
  
The woman asking is married to one of Dean’s favorite--aka highest paying--clients. She is round-faced and soft edges, with a shade of lipstick that’s a touch too garish, and she's every bit maternal in her mannerisms toward them.  
  
“Gee, it seems like we’ve been together for as long as I can remember,” Dean says airily, looking to Cas to offer a better answer.  
  
“Officially? About fourteen months.” For Cas, it's also hard to remember a time before Dean, but it's been nearly fourteen months since Dean asked Cas out on a date and eleven months since Cas got the key.  
  
“Well, good for you. You know, when I was a girl, we knew who the gays were but they had to be secretive or else," she widens her eyes, "you know."  
  
"Ah, yes. We... know." Cas smiles tightly.   
  
"Ooh, I see Dottie over there and should go say hello. I do wish you both the best,” she says before moving on to gossip about _The Gays_ .  
  
As amazingly viral as the workplace grapevine can be, there are still some eyes and ears that haven’t gotten firsthand contact with them. Sometimes he feels like a sideshow exhibit from the gawking and the whispers.  
  
But Dean is worth every bit of it and more. Cas would be willing to put up with anything if it meant Dean was at his side.  
  
“I hate these parties,” Dean whispers tightly through the side of his smile so that only Cas can hear him, obviously feeling the same way about the unnecessary special attention.  
  
“But it’s an excuse to show me off. I mean, look at how amazing I look,” Cas teases.  
  
“Mmm, but you’d look better without this on. Actually, I take that back.” Dean turns to face him fully, eyes glimmering with mischief. “We should sneak up to my office and you can just keep it on. Keep it all on and bend me over my de--”  
  
“Dean?”  
  
Both men look over and find a tall, sandy-haired man gaping at them.  
  
“Yes?” Dean moves a touch closer and turns so that his shoulder presses into Cas, making it obvious that they’re a unit.  
  
“It’s me. Sam. Wesson. Sam Wesson,” the man stutters.  
  
“Well, nice to meet you, Sam,” Dean says cordially, holding out a hand in greeting. Sam takes it, both of his enormous hands coming up to cup and engulf Dean’s one. Sam is staring at Dean in a way that is beginning to make Cas extremely uncomfortable.  
  
So he clears his throat. Loudly.  
  
“And you’re Cas, right?” Sam asks, breaking eye contact with Dean and taking Cas’ hand in the same weirdly intimate hand-hold. Maybe no one taught Sam how to properly shake hands.  
  
“I am. Forgive me,” Cas takes his hand back, “but I can’t seem to recall ever meeting before?”  
  
“Oh, no. I guess we haven’t. I just--you guys are really familiar and I can’t shake this feeling that we know one another. Maybe I’ve just seen your photos somewhere, like the employee directory or a bulletin board,” Sam says. He appears perplexed and his mouth dips into a frown.  
  
“So you work for Sandover?” Dean asks. He’s looking over Sam’s less formal suit critically. Not in a judgmental way, but more as a curiosity.  
  
“Yeah, IT. Nothing fancy.”  
  
“But,” Dean says, pointing a finger gun at Sam, “essential. Can’t run the show without all the players on the board, am I right, Cas?”  
  
“Exactly.” He looks to Dean, trying to come up with an out of this awkward conversation. “You'll have to excuse us. I think my boyfriend was about to sweep me off of my feet and show me his terrible dance moves.” Cas says, feeling a little bit like an overprotective, insecure dick to toss out the B-word.  
  
It has the desired effect, though. Sam shrinks back a little. “B-boyfriend? Wow, I didn’t know that they, ya know, allowed that sort of thing.”  
  
Both Dean and Cas stiffen. “Look, buddy--” Dean starts.  
  
“No, no. That came out wrong,” Sam says, holding up his hands. “I just meant that--I didn’t know that they allowed interoffice relationships. Not because you’re, ya know,” Sam waves a hand between them and then gives up, shaking his head at himself.  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Dean says skeptically.  
  
“It was really nice to meet you, Mr. Wesson.” Cas hooks his arm in Dean’s and gently guides him away before anyone else puts their foot in their mouth.  
  
They grab flutes of white wine and continue to make a round about the room. It seems that every woman from this point on gushes about how they look, ‘ _Just like grooms_ ,’ and each time Dean will laugh nervously and then chug whatever current drink he's holding.  
  
By the end of the evening Cas has a very tipsy boyfriend on his hands. He helps support Dean out to the car, but not before they pass by Sam Wesson who is watching them with a deeply furrowed brow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Promptober word: MASHUP (mix of two+ of previous themes)  
> Rating: Explicit  
> Warnings: Dubcon
> 
> (You may notice that my timeline isn't the exact same as the episode 4X17 timeline.)

Everything shifts and begins to change after the night of the ball. Dean begins working longer hours and seems on-edge. But most concerning is that Sam Wesson has seemed to latch onto Dean, the two becoming work pals. Which would be fine if it didn’t feel like Dean was being secretive and going behind Cas’ back about it.   
  
It all begins one Monday in January when the two of them come into work a little late and find police swarming their building. Apparently there had been a public suicide in the IT Department. Even though Dean didn’t know the man, the whole experience spooks Dean beyond comprehension and he becomes driven to distraction and stays late at work.   
  
And then, unfortunately, Dean becomes witness to a second suicide the following day. He has to make a statement to the police and becomes even more distant, refusing to speak to Cas about it.   
  
Cas tries to be supportive but it’s hard to be there for him when Dean withdraws and stays late at ‘work’ yet again. Cas is concerned but he becomes even more distraught when he learns that Dean isn’t actually staying late at work after all. Another co-worker swears that they had seen Dean leaving _early..._ with Sam Wesson.   
  
The only thing that Cas can do is confront Dean on Thursday morning when they’re actually in the same room together for once. The room being the bathroom where Dean is shaving.   
  
“Okay, crazy question, but what do you think about ghosts?” Dean asks Cas reflection instead of answering to the accusation that he's been lying.   
  
“G-ghosts? What do ghosts have to do with you going out with Sam when you told me you were working?”   
  
“Well, technically, I was working,” Dean argues. “Just because I’m not at Sandover doesn’t mean I’m not working."   
  
“Then why not bring him here and work? Why lie and make it seem like you’re doing something you shouldn’t be doing?”   
  
“Cas, nothing is going on, I swear. Look, Sam brought up ghosts and supernatural disturbances and I thought it was really interesting. I guess I hadn’t ever thought that hard about it before, even though I’ve had those crazy nightmares. I thought maybe they could be grounded in some truth so we were doing some… digging.”   
  
“Well, then, to answer your question I think ghosts are make-believe.”   
  
“Yeah,” Dean’s expression falls. “Yeah, totally. It’s very third grade,” he adds before walking out of the bathroom. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you, Cas. It just didn’t seem to be something you’d be into.”   
  
“Dean,” Cas says tiredly, following Dean to their bedroom, “plenty of people have differing interests and are just fine. And if you think ghosts are real then don’t let my skepticism dissuade you.”   
  
“I didn’t say they were real. Just thought it was an interesting subject. And Sam is a friend, nothing more,” Dean says, annoyed. “So stop accusing me of cheating or whatever it is you think is happening.”   
  
“I wouldn’t be suspicious if you just told me, ‘ _Hey, Cas, I’m hanging out with my new best friend, Sam_.’ That’s all I need to know, Dean.”   
  
“Fair enough.” Dean pulls on his coat roughly. “Cas? Don’t wait up tonight.”   
  
Dean leaves and doesn’t come back until an early morning hour.   
  
The clang of the washing machine lid is what draws Cas out of the master bedroom where he'd finally fallen asleep somewhere around two in the morning, but only after he waits for Dean to lock himself in the bathroom. With a heavy and racing heart, Cas goes to the washer and lifts the lid expecting to find lipstick stains, or the lingering scent of a stranger’s perfume or cologne.   
  
What he doesn’t expect is to find the washer filling up with water over mud-coated and grass-stained clothes. He can’t even fathom why Dean would be covered in this much mud unless he was doing something like--like--digging a hole in the ground.   
  
And what else would one dig that would cover them this greatly unless they had to climb in the hole, a hole large enough to be a grave… With all of the suicides and ghost talk fresh on his mind, it’s hard to not come to that conclusion.   
  
But it is so preposterous that Cas can’t even entertain the notion for more than a second before he tries to apply logic to the situation. Which is that Dean has recently witnessed something traumatizing and is most likely doing something physical to exert pent-up energy and anxiety.   
  
Yes, that has to be it.

  
+++  
  
  
After that night things appear to return to normal. The late nights stop, the suicides become a distant memory, and Dean acts more like himself again.   
  
Despite all of that, Cas’ old insecurities creep in. Things are good but they’re comfortable. Cas needs to know that they’re progressing and not becoming stagnant.   
  
They’ve been together twenty months now and neither of them has actually said the three magic words out loud to one another. Cas didn’t think it could be possible but every day he grows more and more in love with Dean and he’s nearly bursting from the need to say it.   
  
They’ve just gotten into bed for the night so he knows Dean is still awake. Cas scoots close and lines his body up along Dean’s backside, placing a tentative hand on Dean’s shoulder and trailing it all down his arm.     
  
Taking a deep breath, Cas presses his lips just behind Dean’s ear and whispers, “I love you.”   
  
Dean inhales sharply and suddenly Cas is being jostled and pushed at as Dean quickly tries to turn over, his face barely visible in the light coming through the curtains but Cas can see enough. Dean is looking at him in awe and disbelief.   
  
“Yeah? Me, too.” Dean whispers, one of his hands lighting against Cas’ cheek. “For a very, very long time. I just--I never said it because I wasn’t sure you felt the same--”   
  
Cas leans in and kisses him. Without breaking contact, Dean climbs over Cas carefully and straddles his stomach. Cas immediately runs his hands up Dean’s legs and under his boxer briefs, thumbs teasing the more sensitive and tender area on the inside of his thighs.   
  
Dean breaks away. “Me or you?”   
  
“Me,” Cas says.   
  
“Condom?”   
  
“No, not tonight.” Sometimes they still use them for easier cleanup but ever since getting their clean _transmitted infections_ tests back several months ago, they sometimes forego them.   
  
Dean excitedly gets off of the bed so he can undress and grab the lube from the nightstand drawer. Cas takes the opportunity to pull his own clothes off, letting Dean look his fill while he slicks up his hands and strokes himself to hardness next to the bed.   
  
“I mean it,” Dean’s eyes shine in the pale moonlight, “You make me so damn happy. And I mean the serious get-a-dog-and-a-house kind of happy…”   
  
“You’re getting awfully close to proposal territory, Dean,” Cas remarks, letting his knees fall open in invitation.   
  
Without responding to that, Dean crawls back onto the bed and into the V of Cas’ legs. Cas doesn’t always need prep and he’s too impatient for foreplay so he hooks his legs behind Dean’s back and nudges him insistently.   
  
Dean chuckles and purposefully teases him, leaning over for a kiss while circling a finger around Cas’ rim. Cas retaliates by wiggling down the bed and pulling Dean closer with his legs.   
  
“Alright, alright,” Dean laughs, lining up. “I can take a hint.”   
  
“I just want,” Cas says, breath hitching when Dean breaches him, “I just wanna feel, ungh--everything.” The initial sensation is always a strange, intrusive feeling that causes a rush of heat to flood Cas’ chest and cheeks.   
  
And then it’s no longer so much intrusive as it is a most welcome feeling that feels so damn good to the point he can’t get enough. He wants fuller, deeper.   
  
Cas tells Dean as much, babbling about how full, how good, how sweet--and then urging for harder, faster when Dean continues a snail’s pace drag back-and-forth in Cas’ body.   
  
“You gotta calm down or I’ll stop,” Dean threatens playfully, slowly pulling all the way out.   
  
Cas growls in frustration, his body begging for that full feeling to return. He drags his nails down Dean’s back, leaning up a little so he can reach far enough to grab Dean’s ass and try to encourage him to come back.   
  
“I got all night,” Dean says, canting his hips back and away from Cas’ ass. His tawny head bows, the tip of Dean’s tongue touching down and circling around one of Cas’ nipples and then the other. Dean blows gently over the wet skin, sending electric tingles throughout every nerve of Cas' body.   
  
“I’m calm,” Cas promises thickly, closing his eyes and swallowing hard, trying to focus on every single place their bodies touch. Specifically Dean’s groin and stomach against his hard cock and how Dean rubs him just right when he rolls his hips.   
  
Satisfied that Cas is relaxed enough, Dean slides back in in one swift, deep motion that has Cas arching his back off the bed and digging his fingers into the muscle beneath Dean’s shoulder blades.   
  
“A-again,” Cas pants, groaning obscenely when Dean thrusts into him and rolls his hips before pulling back and thrusting in deep again. “Don’t stop.”   
  
Everything becomes a blur of frantic, heated kissing and murmurs of adoration against each other’s lips and skin until Cas is flying such a euphoric high that he can’t say anything more than the one simple syllable of Dean’s name.   
  
Sighing contentedly a little while later, Cas rolls onto his side and Dean sleepily nuzzles against his back after pulling a blanket up and over them, trapping their body heat and the mingled scent of sweat and sex. They can change the sheets tomorrow. Cas falls asleep sated and blissfully happy.   
  
In the morning, Cas wakes alone to the sound of the shower’s pipes groaning as the water is shut off. He takes his time stretching awake, sleepily switching places with Dean when the bathroom door swings open--Cas going into the bathroom to shower and Dean heading out into the bedroom to get dressed.   
  
When Cas comes out a little while later he’s surprised to find Dean sitting in front of the window in his towel, staring outside in deep thought.

A strong sense of deja-vu overcomes Cas and he stands there, dripping wet and cold, wondering if he only dreamed up the nearly two years of their relationship and he's somehow ended up back at the start.

Because, lately, everything has begun to feel surreal and inexplicable dread is his constant companion, like he can sense that their delicate world could crumble in a snap.  
  
Dean looks over and grins. “Mornin’, Sunshine.”   
  
“Uh, hi,” Cas says shyly, remembering last night and finally telling Dean how he really feels. Three small words.   
  
Dean stands up, holding his towel against his hip. And there’s no coffee in hand this time so this scene is different, just similar.    
  
“We should go out tonight," Dean suggests. "Like, really go out, wear our suits, the whole nine. It’s been awhile.”   
  
“I’d love that.”   
  
Dean wrinkles his nose, fighting back a smile. “C’mere.”   
  
“Dean, we’re gonna be late.”   
  
“I don’t give a fuck, Cas.” The towel around Dean’s waist drops to the floor and then Dean steps close, suggestively tugging on Cas’ towel.

When Cas doesn’t object, Dean sways closer and untucks the end, letting it entire thing fall. His hands feel hot against Cas’ freshly washed skin.

He tips his head back, the scratch of Dean’s stubble like sandpaper against his throat as Dean ravages the skin there with little nips of teeth. The burn reminds Cas that this isn’t a dream after all, even if it’s beginning to feel like it.    


+++  


Dean is anxious tonight. When he had pulled up to the valet in his silver Prius, Cas had to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder after he sternly told the driver to not get a scratch on her.

“Sorry,” Dean says sheepishly. “I don’t even know why I said that. It’s not like I haven’t had valet before, or that a knick would matter.”

“Stressful day?” Cas ventures when they step up the curb.

“No, not really,” Dean says, placing a hand against Cas’ lower back as he guides them to the front door of the Italian restaurant that he had chosen for their date.

While they wait for the seating hostess, Dean proceeds to act strangely. He shoves his hands in his pockets to fiddle their contents and begins to rock nervously back-and-forth on the heels of his feet. Normally, he’s more composed.

Cas is just about to ask why he’s so fidgety when the hostess arrives, a slender woman with a short, chic Afro and large gold hoop earrings.

“Two for Smith,” Dean tells her.

She trails a manicured finger down her list and her espresso-brown eyes grow wide. She looks up and beams at Dean. “Yes,” she says excitedly. “We _just_ got your table ready. If you’ll follow me?”

They’re led to a more secluded area, away from the hustle of the main dining room. There are candlesticks burning on a cloth-covered table and a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket.

Everything looks so elegant that Cas panics for a moment and he mentally runs through his calendar to be sure he didn’t miss an anniversary or forgot some celebratory news.

“Here, let me. You should sit here,” Dean says, pulling out a chair.

Cas looks at him funny for the gesture but sits down. While Dean takes the opposing chair, Cas admires the gold plated cutlery set out on their table.

“I guess when you said you wanted to go out, you meant _go all out_?” Cas asks while their waiter uncorks the wine at Dean's request and pours them each a flute of the pale liquid.

“Something like that,” Dean replies, plucking up his white, linen napkin and shaking it out over his lap.

“Are you ready to order or will you need a moment?” their waiter, Philip, asks politely, returning the wine bottle to the bucket.

“Um, just give me—I mean, us—a minute?” Dean taps his fingers on the base of his wine glass and rubs at his neck nervously with his other hand.  

Cas begins to borrow some of the anxiousness that Dean is manifesting.

This, all of this, has to be a show. Some nice way to end it all on a high note. He doesn’t know why his mind constantly drags him to the conclusion that Dean is going to end it. It’s a fear that’s always been deeply rooted in Cas’ heart without good reason. He constantly waits for the moment that the rug will be pulled out from under him.

“Uh, so,” Dean starts, “it’s been awhile since we’ve really gotten to go out and celebrate—“

“Celebrate?” Cas echoes, latching onto the word with hope. He relaxes and picks up his own napkin. “Celebrate what? Did you get a promotion?”

Dean huffs and ducks his head. A pink blush tints his cheeks. “No, nothing like that. It’s just—“ Green eyes lock onto Cas. “I wasn’t exaggerating last night. I’m really, really happy. You’re happy, right?”

“I told you, Dean, I love you. And I clearly don’t say that easily or lightly.”

Leaning forward and looking deeply into his eyes, Dean earnestly says, “I love you, too, Cas.”

Without warning tears prickle at Cas’ eyes. “Dean,” he whispers, getting a little choked up.

“I know that we started out just having fun but then I began to fall for you. I came to the realization that I can’t live my life without you. I don’t _want_ to live life without you. And everything we’ve gone through has led us to _this_ moment,” Dean smiles wide and leans back, reaching into his pocket. “Cas, you’re it for me. There’s nobody else that I—“

“Mr. Smith, Mr. Novak,” Adler greets loudly from the archway diving the main diners from their private space. Without invite he walks toward their table and stops directly between them.

Dean aborts whatever it was he was about to do, grimaces apologetically at Cas, and twists in his seat to smile up at their boss.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Adler says, but he doesn’t sound apologetic. “Actually, scratch that. Interrupting is exactly what I’m doing.”

Dean’s smile falters and Cas squints at Adler.

“Excuse me?” Dean asks.

“Boys, boys, boys. I’ve been exceedingly gracious and very patient. But this? This isn’t how the story is supposed to go.”

“Uh, sir,” Dean forces a chuckle, “what are you talking about?”

“Sam. The ghost. That was supposed to be it. And it was supposed to be over in days, not two years. Granted, I dangled Castiel in front of you like a prized carrot for an extended period of time and really let that build up so the sacrifice would be that much greater. Hunting that ghost should've been the moment that you realized hunting was your calling, that it was in your _blood_ , and that you should drop Castiel like a hot potato. You are supposed to realize your true purpose as Michael’s vessel.”

Dean and Cas share uneasy glances. The man must be off some medication or something.

“And you,” Adler points at Cas. “You just ruin everything, don’t you? But I had to drop you in here. I couldn’t leave you out there because you would’ve tried to interfere and save them before Dean could be taught his lesson.” Adler stares at Cas coldly. “You’re a disgrace.”

“Hey,” Dean snaps, “come on now, you can’t talk to him like that.”

“Oh, for Dad’s sake,” Adler says, reaching out quickly and grasping both of their shoulders.

The moment that Adler comes into contact with Cas it feels like he’s been dunked in ice water. Everything seems to fall away in one whoosh of an avalanche and then a whole different set of memories come barreling back into clarity, slamming into his mind with the momentum of a freight train.   
  
The Winchesters, his grace, his experiences, hunting, Heaven—-all of it restored.

Judging by the stricken look on Dean’s face he also remembers everything now. Cas watches the hunter pat his clothes all over in confusion, grip something through his pant pocket, his face turning an extremely dark shade of red.

“Zachariah,” Cas growls, rising abruptly. “What have you done to us?”

“Oh, put it away, Castiel. We both know you’re all bark and no bite.”

“I don’t have any intention of doing either of those things.”  
  
Zachariah rolls his eyes and addresses Dean, who is still sitting like he’s frozen to his chair. “This fantasy you’ve created,” he waves a hand around the restaurant, “it’s all just an illusion. It’s not real and even if it was, it’s so far out of your reach that it’s laughable. You’re meant to be Michael's sword and nothing more.”

“Enough, Zachariah,” Cas grits out, getting the other angel to turn toward him. Behind Zachariah, Cas can see Dean rise to his feet as he comes out of his stupor.  
  
“Or what?” Zachariah mocks.   
  
“You seem to forget that in our world, we defeated you _and_ stopped the apocalypse.” Cas says, narrowing his eyes.   
  
“So?”   
  
“So you obviously don’t know what the Winchesters are capable of,” Cas says just before dropping his angel blade into his hand and tossing it across the table to Dean.   
  
Dean catches it skillfully and shoves it into Zachariah’s gut without hesitation, just as the angel turns to him in shock, the element of surprise the only way they'd get one-up on the older angel.   
  
The vessel instantly glows blindingly bright, burning up from the inside-out before slumping to the ground. The blade, still held in Dean’s hand, slides out covered in dark red streaks. Jaw clenched tight, Dean steps over the body and holds out the blade to Cas without looking over.   
  
Cas takes it and cleans the blood away with a touch. “Dean--”   
  
“We need to get to Sam, preferably before someone walks in here and sees this asshole,” Dean says, avoiding Cas’ eyes. With Zachariah dead, the blockade over Sam’s true memories may have instantly lifted. “Can you zap us to his location and get us the fuck outta The Twilight Zone?”   
  
Because of the wardings on his ribs, Sam could be anywhere. The only common denominator between the three of them is Sandover Bridge  & Iron Inc. so that is where Cas assumes Sam, too, will look for them. 

Cas presses his lips together and touches his fingertips to Dean’s forehead, getting them as close to Sam’s assumed location as he can. They've ended up in the downstairs lobby.  
  
“Dean,” Cas tries again to get the man’s attention while Dean punches a button to the elevator. There’s something important that he needs to say.   
  
“Just help me get my brother, Cas,” Dean pleads, so heartbreakingly so that Cas can’t do anything except to comply for Dean’s sake, if for nothing else.   
  
They end up finding Sam in the hall just outside of Dean’s office with a frantic, wild-eyed, what-the-fuck just happened expression--that’s what Dean would call it anyway if he wasn’t tearing through the building half out of his mind with anger and embarrassment.   
  
“You don’t wanna know,” Dean says to Sam when they’re within earshot. They form a circle of three and Dean glares down at his shoes. “Okay, Cas, get us home.”

“Dean—“

“I’m not doing this right now, Cas,” Dean says forcefully.

Stepping a few inches closer, Cas takes a few quick seconds to try and drink his fill of Dean’s beauty, though it's not nearly enough time to even scratch the surface of satisfying his consumption of Dean. Nonetheless, he takes what he can get before he cups a hand over each of their shoulders and gives a gentle squeeze.   
  
“Goodbye, Dean,” Cas says tenderly.

Dean’s head snaps up but Cas closes his eyes, unable to bear the flash of panic he sees in those shiny green pools. “Wait, what do you mean goodb—?”

But Dean’s words get cut off. Not being nearly as powerful as he used to be, Cas has to use everything that he’s got left in him in order to get the brothers home. All he can do is hope it is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, Dean Smith sure has an easier time talking about his feelings. Too bad Dean Winchester doesn't. 
> 
> This became a three-parter instead because I needed to include the Sam & Dean salt-n-burn stuff. Because this is Cas' POV, though, we only see/know what Cas sees/knows (which isn't much). We'll get more about what happened and is happening in the final installment. 
> 
> Stay tuned for the ending which will be posted some time late on 10/21/2018.
> 
> ~TheTwistedWillow~


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promptober word: Mutant/XMen 
> 
> (I mention Hulk in this. Technically he's a Mutate, not a Mutant, but semantics.)

Cas can feel again. And by that he means that he can feel things as an angel feels them. Things like the familiar, comforting tug of Dean’s longing except that it burns with its intensity.  
  
Or maybe it’s his grace that burns. Everything seems to be an all-consuming pain these days until it all blurs together.  
  
His current vantage point is the window seat at Dean’s apartment, looking out at the dream construct that Zachariah had created. The world is now a perpetual thunderstorm and flooding, with no end in sight.  
  
The imagined people keep themselves shut up tightly in their homes and in the buildings as the waters continue to rise. Cas stays indoors as well but the water has nearly reached the thirtieth floor of Dean’s building. Soon Cas will need to find even higher ground.  
  
Weeks ago, when Dean and Sam had disappeared from beneath Cas’ palms, Cas had staggered into Dean’s office, locked the door, and collapsed from sapping his grace. When he came-to he had found that the people of this dreamworld were continuing their daily routines.  
  
They still went to work, the cars still traveled down the roads, the sun still rose and still set. But each day it has degraded a little more than the day before until coming to this.

Worse than yesterday, better than tomorrow.  
  
Cas isn’t sure he’ll be recharged enough to get out. The entire place may completely collapse around him before he can even try.  
  
But he _has_ to try. How can he not when Dean is still somehow tethered to him and able to reach out? At the very least Dean's yearning is Cas’ consolation and comfort in these dimming days, reminding him that he’s not as alone as he feels.  
  
He’ll wait, though. He’ll wait until until the last possible moment so he has as much power as possible. Then he’ll try to go home.

+++

Cas drags his sodden feet down the bunker hallway to Dean’s room and leans heavily against the door. It is solid and keeps him upright but it isn’t impenetrable enough to contain the sorrow that Cas can feel just beyond it. Cas lifts a hand and slaps the wood tiredly, his wet hand sliding down the smooth lacquer coating with a long squeak.

“Not in the mood,” Dean calls out.  
  
Cas swallows several times and tries to raise his hoarse voice as loud as he can. “Dean?”  
  
Inside of the room there’s a loud thump, then another, and then the door is swinging inward so swiftly that Cas loses his balance and falls right into Dean’s chest.

“Cas? Cas,” Dean chants the name in reverence and disbelief against Cas’ hair. “Oh, thank fuck.”

Cas burrows into Dean’s neck--which reeks of booze and sweat--and tightly grips the fabric of Dean’s shirt, fighting to keep himself from following the call of unconsciousness.

“H-hey, you okay?” Dean asks shakily, fingers curling in Cas’ hair. “Don’t go faintin’ on me.”

“Just need… time. Wanted to see you,” Cas murmurs against Dean’s skin, the words coming out slow and taking every last bit of fight in him to say out loud.

They just breathe together for a moment, right in Dean’s doorway, but Cas’ power is completely sapped and he won’t be able to stay conscious for much longer.  
  
“Dean? Help me to… my room?”  
  
“You think I’m lettin’ you outta my sight after that stunt you pulled?” Dean asks.  
  
“Tried to… warn you,” Cas says haltingly.

Dean sighs against Cas’ shoulder and holds him tighter. “Yeah, I know,” he whispers, his voice heavy with remorse.

Held against Dean’s body, Cas is mostly dragged into the room. He tries to find strength somewhere to help relieve his dead-weight that is burdening Dean. They stumble against the litter of glass bottles on the floor and Dean manages to get Cas seated on the edge of the bed.

“C’mon, lie down,” Dean says breathlessly, maneuvering Cas’ body and limbs so he’s supine. Then hands are all over Cas’ clothes. “Why are you soaked?”

The more Cas fights to keep his eyes open, the more everything blurs. “There’re two of you,” Cas mumbles while Dean removes his shoes. Trying to blink away the fogginess only makes Cas go cross-eyed so he finally blinks them closed.

“Just means double the fun,” Dean says teasingly but there’s an emotive strain in his voice. The bed dips next to Cas and fingers alight on his hair. Dean’s tone has become more serious when he says, “Faster you sleep it off the better.”

Too weak to do anything else, Cas succumbs.

+++  
  
  
It’s the door opening that wakes him minutes, hours, or maybe even days later. He has no way of knowing. In fact, Cas has no idea when he was spit back into reality because time can move differently in altered states.

He could be back only a day after Zachariah first sent them to the manipulated world, or he could have truly lived two real years—and the few months he was alone—in the fantasy.

The door creaks loudly and Cas tries to sit up but can’t because there’s a heavy weight across his chest. That’s when he registers the soft, familiar snore of Dean beneath his chin and the long line of Dean’s arm flung over his midsection. Cas instantly pulls Dean more tightly against him upon the revelation.  

“Sorry,” Sam whispers from the doorway. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

He tiptoes into the room, leaving the door open so that enough light can spill in for them to see one another.

“I knocked but neither of you answered so…” Sam’s voice trails off. “Anyway, I just wanted to check on you guys but I better go so I don’t wake him. This is the first time he’s really slept since… well, you know.”

Not wanting to wake Dean, either, Cas nods instead of speaking and gives Sam a smile.

Sam quietly returns to the door and turns back to the room. “Glad you made it back, man.” The door creaks closed.

+++

Hurricane-force winds whip Cas’ clothes and hair around roughly despite them being heavily soaked and weighed down by rain. He otherwise stands still--immovable and untouchable--at the highest summit that he was able to find.

Lightning crackles nonstop across the endless vault of sky like spider-web cracks across the dome of a snowglobe. The splintered glass that is any number of breaths away from shattering and spilling the contents of an entire tiny snowglobe world.  
  
A different boom than any before quakes the foundation Cas stands upon, a streak of lightning splitting the sky in an explosive neon blue rip. Cas stares up at the chasm quizzically because lightning usually becomes the thunder. But, then, this may just very well be the end. The moment when Cas’ life collapses and remains no more.  
  
Another blue bolt flashes but instead of zipping across the sky, it aims straight for Cas’ heart.

Cas jerks awake, suffocating, struggling to take breath. The motion disturbs his bedmate, who mumbles something unintelligible beside him. Cas looks over and tries to focus on that person in order to ground himself back into reality.

The sight of Dean, sleeping so peacefully, eases Cas’ racing heart and he finally inhales properly.

_Maybe angels don’t need to breathe._

Except they do, or at least Cas does since he’s not strong enough to support a human vessel’s oxygen requirements by his grace alone. Not anymore.

Getting his breath back, Cas is lucid enough now to take inventory of his surroundings. The first thing he notices is that Dean’s bed isn’t very big--not for two adult bodies anyway--so they’re squished fairly close.  
  
Cas’ clothes from the other world, tattered from the weather and charred from the lightning strike, have since been replaced by dry, soft cotton.  
  
Glancing over the edge of the bed he remembers the glass bottles but they’re gone and it appears that Dean has showered since Cas had shown up.  
  
Which means that he’s probably been asleep for a very long time.

“Cas?” Dean says groggily, patting around until he finds and grabs a fistful of Cas’ shirt. “Is it time to get ready for work? Did the alarm go off?”

“No, there’s no alarm,” Cas replies and Dean jerks away, first his fingers and then his body, groaning a little from trying to move muscles that have stiffened from remaining solitary for so long.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbles. “Don’t be mad. I just couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore and I must’ve moved around in my sleep. It won’t happen again."

“I’m not mad, Dean. I’m… grateful.”

“Grateful,” Dean snorts, sleepily rubbing a hand over his mussed up hair.

“Yes, grateful that you stayed with me to be sure that I’d be alright,” Cas tries to reassure him. Why would Cas ever be mad or upset about Dean being near?

“Yeah,” Dean says quietly. He clears his throat and gets up. “Well, you should, uh, prob’ly go share some of that gratitude with Jack. He’s impatient to see ya.”

“Share my gratitude with Jack?” Cas asks in confusion.

Dean frowns. “Yeah. Don’t you remember what happened?”

+++

“Castiel,” Jack exclaims, immediately on his feet and throwing himself in Cas’ arms in the middle of the bunker library. “I’ve missed you.”

Cas wishes he could say the same but for the better part of his absence he didn’t even know that Jack existed. That fact pains him. He gives the boy a tight embrace while the brothers look on.  
  
“I’m told you are responsible for getting me home,” Cas says, letting Jack go. “And that the Sam and Dean were returned in the normal timeline but I’ve actually been gone for a few months. I can only assume Zachariah’s demise must’ve been linked to that disruption of the time dilation.”  
  
“Your guess is as good as ours,” Sam interjects. “As for Jack, well, he decided to fly solo on this one and didn’t give anyone any warning about what he was going to do.” He gives Jack a pointed look. “We didn’t even know he had figured out _how_ to pull you back home.”

“Because I didn’t want you to know what I was going to do and then try to stop me,” Jack argues, though they all know none of them could actually stop Jack from doing as he wished. Very matter-o-factly he adds, “I have heard that it is better to ask for forgiveness than for permission.”

“So Jack did his thing and it apparently worked,” Sam continues. “You showed up a couple of days ago, found Dean and passed out. Then Dean came out to tell me and we realized we hadn’t seen Jack for awhile. We found him unconscious in his room.”

“Jack,” Cas scolds and the young Naphil has the decency to look a little chagrined, but then he grins and Cas can only shake his head. It’s a little too late for reprimand and Jack does appear to be alright now.

“Whatever he did required a lot of power,” Sam says, “and knocked him out. When he woke up he was a little delirious but he managed to explain to us what he’d done.”

“Yes, how did you do it?” Cas asks curiously.

Jack spares a glance at Dean, who has been quietly standing off to the side with hunched shoulders, his hands jammed into the pockets of a hoodie, green eyes glassy and haunted. With all eyes on him, Dean turns and walks out of the room without a word.  
  
Cas watches him go forlornly, torn between politely finishing his conversation and going to be sure Dean is alright. The mixed signals--longing for Cas but rebuffing him and avoiding eye contact--are making Cas’ mind spin with confusion.  
  
“You two catch up,” Sam says before walking in the direction that Dean had just taken, and thus making the decision for Cas to stay.  
  
“Well,” Jack sits back down at the table in front of his laptop, “a lot of it was just a matter of me learning how to control my power without killing anyone. After that, I just needed to know _where_ to direct it in order to give you a… jump-start.” Jack leans forward and whispers conspiratorially, “That’s a mechanic’s term.”

Cas smiles softly, wondering if Dean had explained that term to Jack. “That world,” Cas shakes his head as he remembers the ruins the likes of which he hasn’t seen since the time of The Great Flood. “That world had become unstable and was rapidly deteriorating. There were storms and, right before I woke here, there was a strange bolt of blue lightning that struck me,” Cas lays a hand over his heart. “That must have been your grace.”

  
“It was simple really. So simple that I regret it took me months to figure it out,” Jack turns bitter. “I should have seen it sooner.”  
  
“Don’t,” Cas insists. “None of this is your fault and you _did_ save me, Jack. I did not otherwise think I would make it out alive.”  
  
Jack acknowledges that with a curt nod. “Ever since Sam and Dean got back, I have felt this overwhelming energy. I’d trail my hands along the walls of my rooms to try and map it out when I wasn’t busy researching. And then I realized exactly what it was, where it was coming from, and who it was directed at.”  
  
“What was it? Who?”  
  
“It was coming from Dean. He was the link, the--the _connection_ to you. And that energy was his pain.”

+++

“Hey, guys. Cas, you’re up,” Mary says cheerfully as she enters the bunker kitchen with several plastic grocery sacks.

“Hello, Mary,” Cas replies, surprised when she steps up to him, lifting up on tiptoes to give him a one-armed hug, the sacks in her hand bumping against his back.

“Hey, Mom, let me help you with those,” Sam offers.

“I got this. I want to have a family meeting, though, so why don’t you get Dean instead?” Mary asks while she deposits the groceries on the kitchen island. Dean had retired to his room because of his hangover.  
  
Cas takes a seat next to the wall and waits quietly. When the brothers return, Dean takes the seat as far from Cas as possible. Sam takes the spot next to Cas.

The gulf between them couldn’t feel wider for being in the same room. And yet that burning heat of Dean’s longing is scorching and bordering on unbearable. Cas doesn’t understand. Dean had welcomed him back and stayed with him but now he’s acting uncomfortable and distressed.

“Okay, so we all know Michael found a way to open a rift to our world but his vessel is damaged,” Mary informs them as she puts groceries away.

“Damaged? How?” Cas asks. He already knew Michael had gotten here with a few angels, hence Zachariah’s scheme, but being injured is news to him.

“When you didn’t come back with us,” Sam explains, “Jack tried to reach out to other angels for help but there aren’t many left, as you know. So the one who did answer his call?”  
  
“Michael,” Cas bites out with disgust.  
  
Sam nods, his lips a flat line. “Jack is stronger than even we could know. He held his own and inflicted some serious damage before Michael’s henchmen distracted Jack enough for Michael to get away.”

“Anyway,” Mary opens a drawer to grab a fork, “this means Dean is on house arrest until further notice because Michael is only that much more desperate to take Dean as his vessel.”

Mary picks up a sack and walks over, setting the fork in front of Dean.  
  
“House arrest? Aren’t I a little too old to be grounded by my mom?” Dean complains, eyeing the grocery bag with disdain.  
  
“Absolutely not. And now that you probably have your appetite back--and also because I knew you wouldn’t be happy about being grounded--I got you something special. So, eat up.” Mary pulls a store-bought pie out of the bag, sets it down on the table and pops off the plastic bubble top for him.  
  
Dean stares at the golden lattice top--small globs of shiny red filling having bubbled through the flaky crust--and he swallows. He spares the briefest of glances at Cas before he’s on his feet and bolting from the kitchen. Cas can feel a heat rising to his own cheeks as a memory taunts him.  
  
Dean Smith rarely had pie. But the very last time he did have it had involved Dean tying Cas’ arms above his head, delightedly smearing the fruit filling all over Cas’ body and then taking his sweet time licking and sucking it off. Cas can still feel the heat of Dean’s tongue against his trembling thighs, shivering stomach, his throbbing--.  
  
“Did I do something wrong?” Mary stares at the doorway in shock. “I thought he liked cherry.” She turns to Sam. “They didn’t have apple.”  
  
Cas clutches the edge of the table, his body feeling flushed and sick.  
  
“Mom, I don’t think it’s the flavor…” Sam says, shaking his head. “Could you just give me a sec with Cas?”  
  
Mary nods. “Yeah, definitely. I have some, um, surveillance I should check on.”  
  
After she leaves Sam twists in his seat. “Dean got really hammered one day and told me, well, everything. Well, maybe not _everything_. But he told me you guys got... close.”  
  
“Sam--” Cas sighs.  
  
But Sam holds up a hand to stop Cas from speaking further. “I don’t think he remembers telling me, or he’s pretending he doesn’t remember doing it. That's beside the point. I just know what happened over there and you should know that he’s feeling guilty and messed up about all of it. I know you just got back but we need everyone’s head in the game in order to deal with the Michael situation. Maybe it’s time to do some damage control?”  
  
  
+++  
  
  
Cas finds Dean in the ‘ _man cave_ ’. He hovers in the doorway, the top of Dean’s hair barely visible over the back of his easy-chair. The room is dark except for the lights and colors flicking across the screen of a new television that Dean must have gotten at some point after the cursed one was smashed to pieces.  
  
“Ya know, I can see your reflection in that glass there,” Dean says, referring to a mirror-like piece of artwork on the wall. “You gonna just stand there or are you gonna say somethin’?”  
  
It’s as good an invitation as any so Cas takes the only other seat in the room, perching lightly on the edge.

There’s still so much space between them.  
  
He misses the nights of coming home and lying down between Dean’s legs, his cheek pressed against Dean’s chest, Dean’s fingers in his hair. He misses holding his hand, kissing him.  
  
They sit in an uncomfortable silence for several minutes before Dean sighs and mutes the mutant monster movie on the television. “I’m… sorry about what happened.”  
  
Cas looks over at the side of Dean’s face in confusion. “Why are you apologizing? You did nothing wrong.”  
  
Dean stares down at his hands and takes a deep breath. “You heard him. I--I made it all up or something. Somehow. It wasn’t real. And I’m just,” Dean closes his eyes and takes another deep breath, “really fucking embarrassed.”  
  
“Dean--”  
  
“No. Ya know, it’s like he just used me and violated you and you were forced into doing stuff you’d never do. And I look at you and I just...” Dean shrugs and doesn’t complete his sentence.  
  
“That’s not how it works, Dean,” Cas says vehemently. “If angels could bend your will then Zachariah wouldn’t have needed to go to these extremes. Everything you did was your choice, just as my choices were mine. The only thing he could control was the setting and the influences in our lives.”  
  
“So what’re you sayin’?” Dean asks suspiciously, finally daring to make eye contact.  
  
“Dean Smith is you. He's a part of you deep down inside, someone you could have been had circumstances in your life been different. He’s the part of you that wants to eat salads, who is comfortable with his intelligence being his strength, and who is not afraid to be sensitive or emotional. Dean Smith _is_ you but unburdened.”  
  
Dean looks a little startled but he's quick to brush Cas' words off as a joke. “So you’re saying he’s the Bruce Banner to my Incredible Hulk. That’s just--that’s just fantastic,” Dean says flatly. “Okay, then what about you?” Dean asks, leaning over his armrest.

“What about me?”

“Are you seriously telling me that there’s some Castiel Novak in there that wants to work in marketing and eat sushi on the weekends?” Dean scoffs and shakes his head. “Or is that just a bit of Jimmy peeking out ‘cause, gotta say, that would make this about a million times worse than it already is.”  
  
“I’ve told you that Jimmy has been gone for a long time. I’m just me. I do have a mind of my own, Dean.”

“Right,” Dean says after a pause, turning to glare at the television. He grabs the remote and turns it off, plunging the room into darkness.

Cas watches Dean walk out again, running away from talking this out.  
  
And Cas is tired of waiting. He has always deferred to Dean. Even in that other world Cas would wait for Dean to make the next move--ever afraid that Dean would also likely tear it all down just as quickly as he’d build it all up.

Dean _Smith_ wasn’t afraid to take those steps, albeit carefully, save for one thing: saying ' _I love you_.' Perhaps it was a bit of the Winchester in him bleeding through but Dean had admitted that he felt it but wouldn't say it until Cas took that crucial step.

Maybe Cas isn’t the only one waiting for someone else to be brave enough to put their heart on the line. Maybe it’s time for Cas to be the one to take another step.  
  
He follows Dean to his room, shutting the door softly behind them.

“You should go see if Sam needs help with the Michael stuff,” Dean says emotionlessly, pausing in a search of the top drawer of his dresser.

“Dean, I don’t know how else to explain this to you except to just say it. It was--”

The dresser drawer slams shut, cutting off Cas' words. Dean keeps his back to Cas, bowing his head in resignation. “We got bigger fish to fry than to sit here trying to dissect something that’s over with and can’t be changed.”

“It was _real_ ,” Cas says desperately. “And, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to just ignore the fact that we both spent two years together. I’m not going to pretend that it didn’t happen.”

“Like I said, we got bigger things to worry about right now. Feelings don’t matter.”

“They matter to me.”

Dean growls lowly in frustration. “Fine. You wanna know my hangup? You’re an _angel_.”

“Yes? And?”

“Angels don’t—they don’t do human stuff. Once again coming back to my first point. I made it all up and you were somehow along for the ride.”

“Do you honestly believe that you were manipulating my behavior? The only difference between our reality and that world was that Zachariah managed to suppress my grace, which made me _human_. Not only that but everything that I said and did was of my own choosing.”

“Everything you said?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“So when you said that you,” Dean’s voice drops to just above a whisper, “that you love me? That was you?”

“Yes," Cas steps further into the room, only a few steps away from Dean. "That was nothing new, just something I kept to myself for years."

“Then... if I had asked you to,” Dean takes in a shaky breath, turning from his dresser with a small black box, “to marry me, you would’ve said yes? ‘Cause maybe you’d have considered it there but I don’t believe for one second that you’d say yes here, Cas.”

“Ask me then.”

Dean’s face screws up. “What? No.”

“Dean,” Cas says in exasperation, “ask me.”

“What does it matter?” Dean implodes. “It ain’t possible here. Our life here is nothing like that one. And according to the USofA I’m dead. And you’re a wavelength with wings. And, in case you forgot, we have cosmic problems on our hands which are far more important than--than _me_.”

Dean Winchester—so beautiful but so afraid to allow himself even a small measure of happiness. But Cas knows that the confidence is in there somewhere. He saw it manifested as Dean Smith. Cas will keep just have to keep reassuring Dean until the man believes it for himself, even if it takes a lifetime.

“Ask. Me,” Cas pleads.

Even as Dean shakes his head, his eyes beginning to glisten with tears, he opens his mouth and inaudibly mouths, “Marry me.”

Instead of answering with words Cas takes the final steps toward Dean and tells him with his lips. The first pillowy touch blows the dam wide open. Dean makes a muffled noise of astonishment, and immediately melts into Cas all while trying to pull their bodies closer together.   
  
It's like nothing has changed. Their lips know this dance, know what they want and know what to give. It's like coming  _home_.   

Cas breaks away long enough to squat low enough that he can grab Dean behind his thighs and lift him up. Dean’s legs instantly wrap around his waist and Cas runs his hands up Dean’s back before he begins walking toward the bed.

An arm snakes around his neck, the little black box poking one of Cas' shoulders while Dean's other fingers find his hair and gently pull, encouraging Cas to tip his head back just as Dean’s dips down to meet his lips. Cas is momentarily distracted by yielding softness, heat, and hunger.

With baby steps he makes his way blindly to the bed and with careful ease lays Dean out on it, following him down and pinning Dean to the mattress.  

“No matter what world,” Cas kisses his lips tenderly. “No matter what name,” Cas kisses him again. “No matter what occupation,” Cas leans back to look Dean in the eyes, “my answer will be yes.”

“I don’t deser—“

Cas steals the words away with another kiss before Dean can dare utter it.  
  
“I’m in love with you wholly. Every part. Right down to your soul. Don’t ever doubt that.”  
  
"Same," Dean says thickly.   
  
As Cas Novak, Cas was missing a crucial part of himself that gave him the ability to assess other people's emotions, something he had come to greatly rely on in his years on Earth. With his angelic senses back he no longer has doubts. Not when he can feel in the ways that he's accustomed to feeling. Like the desperate burn of Dean's longing having dulled to a pleasant, loving thrum that cocoons Cas in sweet warmth.   
  
"Oh, here." Dean is still clutching the black box. He holds it up between them.  
  
Feeling as though this is a sacred moment, and not wanting to crush Dean, Cas moves to his side, propping his head on his hand as he looks down at what Dean is about to show him.  
  
"I don't know how they're still here and not disappearing. Jack saw 'em by accident one day when he was snooping around so, I dunno, maybe he accidentally mojo-ed 'em."  
  
The box creaks open and two bright silver rings wink out at Cas. He knows the symbolic gesture and the sentimental value humans place on rings, but Dean wasn't wrong about an actual, legal marriage in this world being an improbability.  
  
As if reading his mind, Dean says, "We don't need papers and a big thing. This can just be between us. Look." Dean pulls one of the rings out and Cas takes it. The inside is a sanded smooth but the outside is highly textured and polished to a high shine. "Some of those nights I was gone, before the Christmas party and the suicides? I wasn't always at work or with Sam. I was looking for a jeweler that would take a piece of string and make a coupla rings out of it. I, uh, planned it for a long time."  
  
Cas looks up from the ring quizzically. "This is string?"  
  
"Yeah. I was real curious about the process and wanted to be involved so they didn't phone it in. So, I had them explain the whole process."  
  
Dean takes the ring back and quietly tells Cas how they cut a large, thick piece of string in half. Then they dipped each piece in wax, wrapped them several times around a mandrel to the appropriate finger sizes, and thus created thick masculine bands. Then they were cast in white gold.  
  
"Alright, give me your hand." Without ceremony Dean takes one of the bands and slides it on Cas' finger, allowing Cas to do the same to him with the other ring.   
  
"They're beautiful, Dean," Cas says, touched by the amount of planning and effort that went into Dean creating them. But... "I just have one question, though. Why string?"   
  
"Sometimes I like to see where one leads." Dean hums happily, his smile smug. "And it looks like this one starts and ends with you-n-me."   
  
  
+++++++++  
Bonus Scene  
+++++++++  
  
Later that night Castiel strides to the kitchen confident in his mission. He pulls the cherry pie out of the fridge, smirking at how cold it'll be. Then he looks through the cutlery drawer and settles on a large wooden spoon for his needs. Before he can walk out and return to Dean, Jack wanders in.  
  
"The pain is gone," Jack announces. "I assume this means Dean feels better now."  
  
"Much... better," Cas says carefully. "In fact, I'm going to bring him this pie just to be sure he's _thoroughly_ feeling better."  
  
Jack doesn't need to know why. Let's just say it's Dean's turn to be pied and Cas is going to take this task very seriously... and very slowly. But he feels he should offer some warning. Jack is an impressionable youth, after all.  
  
"Uh, Jack, there are things you might overhear," Cas starts and then aborts. He tries again. "The walls aren't exactly thin. And with your heightened sense of hearing--"  
  
"Oh, don't worry. Sam already talked to me and told me to soundproof Dean's room so no one can eavesdrop. Well, actually, he told me to soundproof his room, my room, and Mary's room. But I came up with the idea to just soundproof Dean's since Sam says that he, ' _L_ _ikes his privacy_ '."  
  
"That's--thank you, Jack." Cas clears his throat. "I will see you tomorrow."  
  
"Have a good night," Jack says brightly, moving toward the fridge for whatever midnight snack he's after.   
  
Cas chuckles on his way down the hall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S SO FLUFFFFFFFFFFFFY!

**Author's Note:**

> OMG I finished the story. I seriously hope you enjoyed reading it because I enjoyed telling it. Again, there's probably a few typos here or there. I don't use a beta due to time constraints but I may have someone go through with a fine tooth comb eventually. 
> 
> THE RINGS: Okay, so I am a jeweler and had a specific design in my head for the rings. Instead of making the rings and photographing them (due to lack of funds and some of the necessary components), I went on a search. The closest thing I can find to what I was envisioning is the last ring shown on this link under the Lost Wax Technique String Ring: https://tinyurl.com/ycb6t2yu
> 
> MICHAEL: I wanted to have an actual reason for the repeat of episode 4x17 but with the twist of Cas being there. In my story I changed a few things. For example, in the original episode in s4, Zachariah only gives the brothers false memories. They're still in a real world, with real people, and a real ghost to hunt. In my story, I had him do more of a Djinn type thing by giving them false memories and constructing a "dream bubble" for them to live in. 
> 
> Also, I wanted to set this in s13 so that Dean and Cas have their decade of history. I hope by mentioning those details about Michael--as vague as they are--that it gives a little depth to the story since I won't be resolving the Michael issue here. This is an "open ending" but just know the guys will kick his ass because they always do. I'm thinking they trap Michael in Heaven so that Heaven can be powered again so let's go with that.
> 
>  
> 
> ~TheTwistedWillow~


End file.
